


Loneliness

by TheDrawingBoard



Series: His Own Answers [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of Tabitha and Barbara, Canon Divergent, M/M, Written before episode 3x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDrawingBoard/pseuds/TheDrawingBoard
Summary: "I can fill a room, or just one heart. Other's can have me, but I can't be shared. What am I?"Out of options, Edward Nygma finds solace in the one place he said he'd never return to: Oswald Cobblepot's old mansion. However, memories take no time finding him once again.





	Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is the first part of a three part series of one shots I'm writing. Hope you enjoy it!

The police had barely left anything in tact by the time Edward was forced to return to the old mansion. Enough time had passed for the ancient crypt-like home to become the only safe house Ed had left, however, the moment he took one step through the door, every fiber of his being told him to run. The air hung heavy with memories, regrets, and dust. Placing his bag carefully on the table, he surveyed the area, processing how long ago the last raid was. The Riddler had become a sort of phenomenon these past few months, causing the police to become desperate when searching for clues on his whereabouts, but nowadays, Ed couldn't find the same joy he felt when first acquiring the mantel. He had received everything he wanted- recognition, forces of intellect, his own identity- but something was missing. A void, steadily growing, devastatingly subtle that even the great Edward Nygma, the Riddler, couldn't even pinpoint just what was wrong. His mind had become constantly preoccupied, after all.

Rubbing his eyes under his glasses, his attention was drawn to the abandoned fireplace. It felt odd not to be lit. Letting out a sigh, he walked quietly towards the now upturned couches guarding the way to the fireplace. As he began to push one back over, pain shot up his left arm, almost causing him to drop it. Right. Getting shot will continue to hurt even after you get the bullet out. He would have to rebandage it later. Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, Ed watched the couch right itself with a thump. It occurred to him then that maybe he should have checked if he was really alone-

“Before pushing a damn couch over,” he growled, his thoughts and words melding together as he cursed to himself, finally reaching the fireplace. Picking up the box of matches that was still surprisingly intact and in the same place as before, he struck the fire to life, feeling the relief of warmth flood over him.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice spoke as clear as day the moment the fire was lit. Scooting back suddenly in shock, Ed slammed his bad arm against the base of the still tipped couch. “A-Ah…” he grunted, blood smearing against the wood. His eyes flashed from one side of the room to the other, trying to find the source of the voice. “Who’s there?!” he called out, too caught off guard to think straight. The place was too cluttered, there were too many thoughts to focus on just one.

“I thought you'd never come back here.”

He knew that voice. He knew that voice too well. That voice was about as welcoming as finding poison in your morning coffee. “You shouldn't be talking to me!” Ed yelled at nothing, “You shouldn't be here! I didn't want you here!” There were times, in the dead of night, that he could hear the raspy voice of Oswald Cobblepot echoing throughout his mind. He'd lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of his current safe house. Sometimes unable to sleep, sometimes not wanting to. At this point, Ed had concluded that it was a side effect to the drugs still stuck in his system mixed with his own guilty conscious that didn't want to leave him alone, creating a cocktail of insomnia. Whether it was confirming his own thoughts, repeating past conversations, or just the whispers of sweet nothings, the voice was always far away, not completely coherent. Not like how it was on the drug.

This voice was different. It was like he was filling the whole mansion with his voice, calling to Ed from the hell he had sent him to.

“I knew you needed me.”

“Leave me alone!” he shot back almost instantly, shooting up on his feet. He spun around in panic, trying to find the source of the pounding memory pushing against his ear drums. That's when it occurred to him, a cold shiver traveling down his spine. The fire. Looking slowly to the fireplace, Ed audibly gasped at the sight of himself, sitting on the couch he had fixed with Oswald. There were bruises on his neck- right. Right, that night. He had felt so many emotions that night, many of which he still didn't understand. Taking a step back, he watched the scene unfold as if he really was just an observer.

“You said you'd do anything for me!”

This time, the voice came from behind him, causing him to spin around quickly, searching for anything that could make sense of this. When he turned back to the scene unfolding on the couch, he spotted a change. A huge change. As Oswald pulled him into the hug, he watched himself kiss him instead. Eyes widened in surprise, Ed took a sudden step back, his heel catching on one of the legs of the askew couch, sending him to the floor once again. A groan of pain squeezed out as he caught himself on the injured arm, but his eyes could tear away from watching the two of them kiss. How it should have happened-

“Stop this!” he screamed at the figments, “It didn't happen! It won't happen! Ever!” But it didn't stop. They stayed there, locked in an embrace.

“You wanted this, didn't you?!”

Covering his ears and clenching his eyes shut, he slid his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on his knees. “Stop… Leave me alone… Just stop…” he pleaded. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning everything out in that moment. He could feel blood rolling down his bicep towards his elbow, hidden underneath the sleeve. The homemade stitches must have come undone. His mind focused on that, trying to silence the voice- anything to make it quiet. He couldn't even dare to open his eyes. Just follow the path of the blood. Just follow- the blood absorbed into his sleeve, leaving his mind silent for a moment. A moment was all Oswald’s memory needed.

“Admit it!”

Ed should have known. He should have known covering his ears would have done nothing. This was all from his own tattered, exhausted mind. But hearing the scream made him jump to his feet in fear, his legs carrying him upstairs, away from the fire, away from him. He knew this wouldn't do anything, but something was dragging him up the stairs. Fear, maybe? Desperation, probably? He didn't care. His stride didn't break until he reached his room. There, Ed saw it. Everything stopped in an instant. The plastic box reflecting the light from the moon, causing it to stand out from the scattered litter that was once his belongings. He knew that Tabitha or Butch would be here soon. He knew that at any moment the police or James Gordon could show up. He knew he couldn't stay long. But in that moment, that instant he spotted the box, the only thing he knew was he wanted to see his friend again.

Grabbing for his box of backup pills- a box he never even imagined he would ever see again, let alone need. Thinking back on it, he should have thrown it out the moment he decided he’d never need him again. Should haves could never compensate for the present, however. Should haves didn’t stop him from popping the lid of the box open, his index finger and thumb rolling the cylindrical pill back and forth. Without much more hesitation, he popped it in his mouth. The first crunch down to open the pill pocket brought the sound of footsteps up his stairs. And the sound of a cane, accompanied with the sound of a gun cocking.

“Edward. Nygma.”

He could hear him, as if the voice was actually in the room. It was gruff and angry, not unlike his current thoughts. The name spoken by the Penguin seemed to be dripping with venom, more hatred than even his thoughts could muster. He felt so real- But Ed couldn’t see him. He wasn’t appearing in front of him like he wanted. Impatient, the self proclaimed genius did the one thing he was never stupid enough to try before. He placed another pill between his teeth and bit down hard, feeling the tasteless drug inside it burst onto his tongue and the inside of his mouth. A shiver ran down his back. A sensation he had never experienced. It was as if he was floating, eyes sliding shut as he breathed out the Penguin’s name, willing him to come back. Come back from the dead just for the night. He just wanted to see his friend again.

Another set of footsteps pattered up the rickety, old stairs, despite how quiet they were trying to be. Odd. Turning around, he finally spotted Oswald in the doorway, a gun at his side. Odd. He had never held a gun before. Not even when he tested just how much this hallucination can accomplish. Odd. Maybe it was the second pill. “Oswald, I-” he began, only to be interrupted by the owner of the second set of footsteps. His eyes locked on what he could only guess was Tabitha, pushing Oswald aside to lunge at Ed with what he could fathom was a crowbar-

Wait. Did she just interact with him? There’s no way she would have known he was there.

Unless-

He never had time to finish the thought. The last thing he remembered before waking up on the cot was the feeling of the metal connecting with his head, and someone shouting for him.


End file.
